The Plot
by Deana
Summary: During a royal hunt, Aramis nearly drowns when someone pushes him into a raging river. Who tried to kill him, and why?
1. Chapter 1

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 **The Plot  
** A Musketeers story by Deana  
Takes place during season 1

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The day had started out normal, as most days did.

It was an unexpectedly chilly day in autumn, three days after King Louis had dragged his Musketeers and closest courtiers on a hunting trip. The previous night had been colder than usual, and Louis had yet to come out of his tent.

Aramis sighed as he stood before the river that they'd camped at. It looked like it was going to rain, which would spoil the King's plans. The scenery was still beautiful though, with bright colors on the trees. Aramis dreaded the coming winter, but he always enjoyed the autumn season. The sky was cloudy and a gust of wind suddenly blew, making him shiver as the river raged. The water rushed quickly downstream, flowing around large boulders. He wondered how cold the water was, and unconsciously took a step back.

To his surprise, Aramis felt something at his back, and had no time to react before he was unexpectedly shoved into the river. The cold water was such a shock that he gasped and inhaled water. Choking and sputtering, he broke the surface and flailed in an attempt to swim, but the water was so rough that it quickly washed him downstream.

Aramis tried to yell for help, but he couldn't take an adequate breath. He kept getting dunked under and tried to avoid the rocks, but it was impossible. After careening into too many small ones to count, he finally smacked chest-first into one that was large enough to cling to, and cling he did, eyes closed as he fought to breathe. _Just hold on; just hold on,_ he told himself. _Someone will see me. Just hold on…_

Aramis eventually heard shouts, and relief washed over him. He continued to cling to the rock, his entire body throbbing with pain and shaking from the cold. He felt one of his hands start to slip and tried to readjust his grip, but his hand was numb from the freezing water and didn't obey him easily.

"Aramis!" he heard. "Hold on!"

 _What does it look like I'm doing?_ he said to himself. He had no breath to answer, so he didn't.

The men on the shore were forming a human chain, wading into the water and getting closer and closer to him. Finally, someone's hands touched Aramis and he gasped, which only made him start choking again.

"I have you, Aramis," someone said. "Let go of the rock!"

Without even hearing the voice, he knew that it was Porthos. Of course: Porthos was known as being the strongest Musketeer. Whether he was Aramis' best friend or not, he would be the one making the rescue, without question.

Aramis suddenly realized that Porthos' arms had snaked around his body and were holding him in a death-grip. He was suddenly tugged away from the rock, flailing again when he and Porthos were nearly washed away.

"Pull us in!" Porthos exclaimed.

His shout was unnecessary, because they quickly started moving sideways towards the bank as the men quickly obeyed.

Aramis couldn't offer any help keeping his head above the water, as cold and numb as he was, and water sloshed over his face again just as he took a breath.

"Sorry, Aramis!" Porthos said. "Sorry!"

Aramis couldn't answer; that last mouthful of water seemed to do him in and his consciousness wavered. He vaguely felt himself being dragged onto land and heard the words 'not breathing'. Something abruptly impacted with his back and he gasped, coughing up water. A moment later, he noticed that a hand was rubbing his back, and it brought him a small measure of comfort as his brain finally realized that he was no longer in the river.

Hands started to quickly remove his belt, sash, and jacket, and blankets were suddenly thrown over him where he lay still coughing and choking. The hand went back into place rubbing his back while another set of hands brushed the hair away from his face and someone else tightly squeezed his arm. Aramis was still too numb mentally to know whose hands belonged to who, but he knew which of his friends were there…he _always_ knew that.

"Aramis," said a voice. It took him a few seconds to realize that it belonged to Treville and that it was coming from behind him…so _that's_ who was rubbing his back. "Aramis," he repeated. "We don't want to move you until we know what your injuries are. Where is the pain?"

Aramis didn't answer, and someone suddenly tapped his face. The contact seemed to slap some of the fog away from his brain, and Aramis blearily opened his eyes.

The first face he saw was Athos, who looked nervous, but gave a relieved smile to see the sign of life. "Where are you hurt?" he asked.

Aramis blinked. He shifted slightly, which set off another round of coughing. He could feel the water in his lungs, and winced.

"Say somethin', will ya?" came Porthos' anxious voice. The hand on his arm squeezed tighter.

"I'm…fine," Aramis raggedly gasped. "Just…bruised."

"Are you sure?" d'Artagnan skeptically asked.

Aramis was still very numb, and still shaking from the cold. He _thought_ he was sure. He started coughing again.

"Let's get him inside your tent," said Treville. The four Musketeers were sharing one, which was a good thing considering that one of them was injured now.

Arms suddenly made their way under Aramis' body and he was lifted. Being moved made him feel colder and he started shivering harder. One of his friends adjusted the blankets around him, and it took quite a few minutes to get back to their tent. At the speed that Porthos was walking, Aramis realized that he'd been swept far from the camp.

Suddenly they were inside and he was being sat on the ground. The wet blankets were removed and someone started to pull his shirt over his head. Within minutes, he was changed into dry clothes and wrapped in dry blankets, comfortably laying on his bedroll. He continued to shiver and cough, and Treville, Athos, and Porthos sat there staring at him. D'Artagnan had gone to get some rocks heated in the fire outside, and when he returned, they stuck them inside Aramis' blankets, to help warm him.

Everyone was relieved and surprised that Aramis hadn't been injured worse. He was covered in bruises just like he'd told them, but his ribcage had taken the most damage, from slamming into the rock that he'd hung onto until they'd rescued him. The coughing was making the pain worse, and he felt thoroughly miserable.

"Aramis?" Porthos suddenly said.

"What?" Aramis asked, before coughing again.

"How did you end up in the river?"

Suddenly, Aramis realized what had happened, and his eyes popped open. He tried to sit up, but hands grabbed him and forced him back down.

"What are you doing?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

"I was pushed!" Aramis told them. He started coughing again.

Everyone stared at him in shock.

"Someone pushed you into the river?" Treville asked.

Aramis couldn't talk, so he nodded.

"Are you sure?" Athos asked.

"Yes," Aramis gasped out, still coughing.

"You're tellin' us that someone tried to _kill_ you?" Porthos asked.

"Pushed… _in_ ," Aramis repeated, trying to stop coughing and not succeeding.

"We need to inform the King," said Treville. "I'll be back." With that, he left.

"Do you have any idea who did it?" Athos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "No…stepped back…someone there…" He kept coughing, not able to get all of the water out of his lungs.

"Why would someone want to kill Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked the others. "And why one of _these_ people?" They were all rich nobles.

Athos looked at their injured friend, who was practically holding his breath to avoid coughing. "Aramis, please tell me that there are no jealous husbands along on this trip."

Aramis, eyes closed, shook his head.

"That's a relief, at least," Porthos said.

Athos sighed. "We need to find out who pushed you in, Aramis. Any information you can give us would help."

"Saw nothing," Aramis said, breathing shallowly to try to prevent himself from coughing again. "Heard nothing."

"So you were just standin' there at the river's edge mindin' your own business, and someone crept up behind you and pushed you in?" Porthos asked.

"Yes," Aramis said. He started coughing again and groaned from the pain. Suddenly, he looked up. "My hat?"

"We found it snagged in a bush not far from where you were rescued," said d'Artagnan. He gestured towards a chair where the hat was sitting to dry.

Aramis was _very_ relieved. Everyone knew how much he loved his hat.

Treville came back in a few minutes later. "I informed the King, and after he expressed shock that one of his courtiers would do such a thing, he gave me permission to investigate."

"That was gracious of him," Athos said, sarcastically.

Aramis started coughing again, and Treville walked over and knelt beside him. "Sit up a little," he said, taking Aramis' arm. "It'll be easier to breathe that way. D'Artagnan, bring all the saddlebags over here."

D'Artagnan obeyed, piling them behind Aramis as Treville helped him recline against them.

It _was_ easier to breathe that way, and if one of the others had been in his place, that's exactly what Aramis would've done, reclined them partially upright to aid breathing. It had never crossed his mind all this time, and Aramis realized that he still was not thinking clearly.

Treville made sure that Aramis was still fully covered with the blankets before standing again. "I'm going to ask around to find out if anyone saw what happened. One of you needs to stay with Aramis at all times; if someone is trying to kill him, they might try again." On that cryptic note, he left once more.

Aramis' eyes were closed and he kept them that way. His body was aching, his head and ribs were throbbing, and his lungs were protesting every breath.

"Are you all right?" he suddenly heard.

Aramis opened his eyes to see all three of his friends watching him. Not wanting to speak and risk another coughing fit, he simply nodded and closed his eyes again, breathing shallowly.

The other three looked at each other. Who had tried to kill Aramis, and why? One thing was for sure; it wasn't going to be easy to find the answers...

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis wasn't allowed to leave the tent for the rest of the day, not that he would've. He was still in pain and couldn't fully warm up thanks to the chilly autumn temperature. He couldn't get all of the water out of his lungs, and had a feeling that he would be coughing all night.

While the others tried to find out what had happened, Porthos wouldn't leave his side, gladly taking on the task of being Aramis' bodyguard. He had the cook bring in a pot of hot broth for Aramis to drink, but before he let the cook leave, he made him taste it himself, just to ensure that the cook wasn't the one who'd pushed Aramis into the river and would poison him now that the first attempt had failed to kill him.

Aramis waited until the bewildered cook left the tent, and then he burst out laughing...for two seconds, before he started to cough his lungs out.

"What?" Porthos asked.

Aramis could barely talk. "The...cook?" was all he managed to get out.

Porthos shrugged. "We dunno _who_ it was...it could've been anyone." He frowned as Aramis continued to cough, and reached over to slap him on the back, hoping it would bring up some of the trapped water enough for Aramis to swallow it.

Aramis made a pained sound from the contact. "Don't!" His lungs hurt enough already.

"Sorry," said Porthos, removing his hand. "Thought it might help." He stuck the ladle into the pot and scooped some of the hot broth into a cup before placing it into his friend's hands. "Drink."

Aramis took a sip between coughs, nearly moaning with relief as the comforting heat slid down his raw throat.

A sudden gust of wind whistled outside the tent, and Porthos looked around and sighed. "This is ridiculous. The King sure picked the wrong day for this."

"Rain," Aramis said, as he drank the broth.

"Hmm? You think it's gonna rain?" said Porthos. He nodded. "Probably. That'll prevent us from leavin'." He didn't like knowing that a potential murderer was lurking around…especially when Aramis was their intended target.

Aramis finished his broth and handed Porthos the cup. Not thinking, he sighed at his friend's words, which started up another coughing fit.

The tent suddenly opened and Athos came inside. He headed over to them and watched Aramis as he coughed. "How is he?" he asked.

Porthos sighed. "Could be better."

Athos waited until Aramis stopped coughing before he said, "No one I spoke to saw you go into the river."

"Well he obviously _did_ ," Porthos said, sarcastically.

Aramis was trying to suppress more coughing, a hand on his chest as he tried to take enough of a breath to speak with. "Lying."

Athos nodded. "Whoever pushed you in. Yes."

"We need to figure out who did it before we leave, Athos," said Porthos. "Aramis will be a wide-open target on a horse."

Athos nodded his head. "I know." He sighed. "We can always ask the King if Aramis can ride in his carriage."

Aramis shot a sharp look at him. Riding with King Louis…he'd be bored to tears. "Rain," he said again.

"Aramis thinks it's gonna rain," Porthos told Athos. "If it does, we won't be goin' anywhere."

Athos nodded. That was definitely true.

D'Artagnan came in just then. "No one saw you go into the river," he said to Aramis.

"There's an echo in here," Porthos said, upset to hear that. "Someone is lyin'," he said, so that Aramis wouldn't have to speak again.

D'Artagnan nodded. "Most of them seemed genuinely surprised to hear that you were pushed."

"Most of 'em?" said Porthos, placing another cup of broth in Aramis' hands.

D'Artagnan made a face, watching as Aramis drank it. "Monsieur Clouseau had the audacity to suggest that you tripped and fell in, and made this up to save your pride."

Aramis didn't expect to hear that and inhaled the broth. He laughed and choked at the same time. "Clouseau?" he gasped out before coughing his lungs out again.

Athos and Porthos knew why that was so funny; two years ago, Comte Clouseau had been drunk at a ball and had fallen into a water fountain. The three of them had witnessed it and laughed for days. The Comte had no right to talk.

Everyone was alarmed to see Aramis choke, and Athos went to slap Aramis' back, but Porthos grabbed his arm to stop him. "Already tried that," he said. "It hurt's 'em." He grabbed the cup next before Aramis could drop it.

D'Artagnan knelt and rubbed Aramis' back instead. "I'm so sorry," he said, not realizing the reaction that his words were going to have. He knew that there must be a story here, and reminded himself to ask the others later.

Aramis kept coughing, and groaned at the pain that it sent through his lungs. He closed his eyes and hung his aching head, trying to catch his breath without coughing again.

Ever sympathetic, d'Artagnan kept rubbing his friend's back, shooting a look of dismay at the others.

Athos frowned at the sight of Aramis' hand painfully fisted in his shirt against his chest, and his anger at whoever had done this to him grew.

Suddenly, as Aramis had predicted, it started to rain, the drops plopping against the roof of the tent. Porthos sighed and picked up the cup of broth, placing it in Aramis' hands again.

Aramis drank it quickly, grateful for its soothing heat. When he finished, he handed the cup back. "Thanks," he said, hoarsely.

All three of his friends knew that he was saying it to all of them.

D'Artagnan moved his hand from Aramis' back to his shoulder and squeezed it before letting go. Athos reached forward and pushed Aramis back to recline against the saddlebags, adjusting the blankets to cover his arms again. "Rest." He looked at the others. "We'll take watches during the night."

Porthos nodded.

Night came with the abating of the rain, but not the awful cough that plagued Aramis after his near-drowning. It was hard for him to fall asleep, and when he finally did, everyone was relieved. Naturally though, it didn't last, as he frequently woke coughing through the night. Every time he did, whoever was on watch was there sitting beside him, offering him more broth, which they kept warm for him all night.

Aramis looked towards the others, hoping that he wasn't waking them as he tried to suppress his coughing.

"Don't hold it back," said Athos, who was on watch at the moment and sitting beside Aramis, facing him. "They understand."

"The whole camp...must hear..." Aramis said, still fighting against the spasm of his lungs and losing the battle a few seconds later.

Suddenly, the tent flap opened, and Athos instantly had his pistol pointed at the intruder. "Who's there?" he demanded.

Treville's head poked in. "Just me." He'd known that he would be facing someone's weapon and waited for Athos to lower it before he stepped inside, steering himself around the hopefully-sleeping d'Artagnan and Porthos. He headed over and knelt beside them, watching as Aramis coughed into a handkerchief in an attempt to mute the sound.

"Sorry...for...waking..." said Aramis, in between coughs.

Treville cut him off with a shake of his head. "I was already awake, watching your tent. I haven't seen anyone suspicious." He looked at Athos. "He's no better?"

Athos shook his head. "No."

Treville sighed. "He needs a physician."

Aramis tiredly shook his aching head. "Nothing...can be done." He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly to hopefully prevent more coughing.

Treville and Athos weren't surprised to hear that. It looked like Aramis would just have to deal with it until his lungs recovered. Considering the wheezing sound that they could hear coming from his chest, it was obvious that it was not going to be a quick recovery…

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn broke a few hours later and Aramis finally slept deeper. Everyone tried to be as quiet as they could, but there was noise in the camp, including rain that was falling again. Aramis slept through it, exhausted from the little sleep he'd gotten through the night. The sound that most distressed the Musketeers was the wheeze that they could hear from Aramis as he breathed.

Porthos stared at Aramis where he still reclined propped up by the saddlebags. "I don't like this," he whispered to Athos. "One of us should just take him back to the garrison. He should be sleeping in his warm bed, not stuck outside in the cold and damp."

Athos sighed. "The weather would likely do him more harm. At least he's dry in here."

That was true. The _last_ thing Aramis needed was to ride all the way back in the rain.

Suddenly, Aramis made a noise and abruptly woke up coughing.

Porthos knelt beside him with a canteen and waited for the coughing fit to ease before he handed it to him. "There's more broth on the way as soon as it's ready," Porthos told him.

Aramis drank his fill before nodding. "Thank you," he said, holding the canteen in his lap. He sat there for a moment and just breathed.

"How are you?" Athos asked.

Aramis looked up at him, blinking tiredly. "Better," he said, even though the wheeze contradicted him.

Athos gave him The Look, and Aramis gave him a weak smile in return.

D'Artagnan came in a moment later with breakfast and Aramis' broth, and they ate. Aramis continued to cough, and wasn't surprised when everyone stared at him the entire time they ate.

"How long will that go on?" d'Artagnan asked, gesturing towards Aramis' chest.

"Hard to say," Aramis answered. "I'll be fine." He managed to say both sentences without coughing, and saw visible relief on his friends' faces. Aramis found that if he took slow, careful breaths, his lungs weren't as quick to spasm.

"Have you perhaps remembered anything about the incident that we are unaware of?" Athos asked.

Aramis thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Stepped back, someone there, pushed in."

"Well, with the way that river is so rough, there's no way it was a joke," said Porthos. " _Anyone_ pushed in could die. You're lucky you were spotted hangin' onto that rock, Aramis."

Aramis knew that was true. He remembered the feeling of shock when he was so unexpectedly pushed into the cold river, and the fear that he'd felt when water had gone down his windpipe and into his lungs. The river was flowing so violently that he couldn't swim against it, and with all those rocks, if a victim didn't immediately drown, they'd likely be knocked unconscious by slamming into them and drown _that_ way...there was no doubt that it had been a murder attempt. It was a miracle he'd managed to remain conscious and grab hold of that rock. Aramis suddenly realized that he had no idea how long he'd hung onto it before they saved him…

"Aramis?"

A hand grasped his shoulder and Aramis was startled into yet another coughing fit.

"You were miles away for a moment," Porthos said. "Are you all right?"

"I was…thinking," Aramis said, once he had enough breath to speak.

No one was surprised.

Treville came in just then, and headed over. "Feeling any better?"

Aramis handed his empty plate to d'Artagnan. "I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked," said Treville. He'd learned a long time ago not to believe the words 'I'm fine'.

Aramis nodded. "Better."

Treville wasn't sure if it was true, but he nodded. "The King is considering leaving once the weather clears. Everything is too wet for a hunt."

"Good," said Porthos, eager to get Aramis home.

"But if we leave, that'll make it harder to figure out who did this," said d'Artagnan.

Athos looked at Aramis. "Can you stand?"

Aramis blinked at the sudden question. He knew that Athos must have a good reason for asking, so he nodded.

"Get him up," Athos told Porthos.

Porthos stood and reached down to pull his friend to his feet.

Treville did the same on the other side, and Aramis was surprised at the chill that he felt at the absence of the blankets. Pain radiated through his bruised ribs and he foolishly sucked in a breath, which instigated a coughing fit.

Porthos and Treville held Aramis up as he coughed and failed to stand up straight, one arm wrapped around his ribs.

Aramis tried _not_ to cough. His lungs ached and burned, and he tried to suppress it as much as he could. He eventually inched himself out of his slouch to straighten up and look at Athos.

Athos looked like he was having second thoughts. "All right?" he asked.

Aramis felt a little dizzy, but he nodded, breathing shallowly.

Rather than tell Aramis to turn around, Athos walked behind him. "Where did your attacker place his hands when he pushed you?"

Aramis frowned, thinking.

"Did he grab you first?" Athos asked, putting his hands around Aramis' arms.

"No," Aramis said.

Athos stepped back a few feet, before quickly walking forward and raising his hands, placing them on Aramis' back as if he was going to push him. "Where were his hands in relation to mine?"

Aramis had to think. "It happened so fast," he said.

"Try to remember," Treville said, still holding onto his arm as if he wasn't sure that Aramis could remain standing on his own for long. "Anything you can tell us will help."

Aramis nodded. "Athos, don't move." He then walked forward a few steps, before backing up into Athos' hands just like he'd done at the river with his assailant. "Towards the middle."

Athos shifted his hands closer to each other. "Like this?"

Aramis nodded, though he still looked unsure. "Lower."

Athos shifted his hands down.

"Push me," said Aramis.

Athos frowned at that; Aramis wasn't steady or healthy at the moment. "I do not wish to hurt you."

"I won't fall with Porthos here," Aramis said. He swallowed against the sudden urge to cough, and knew that he was going to regret this.

Porthos nodded his agreement, tightening the grip that he still had on his friend's arm.

Athos sighed, but obeyed, pushing against Aramis' back: not very hard, but not too gently either.

Aramis stumbled forward and Porthos and Treville succeeded in keeping him upright, but the coughing fit that Aramis had been holding back overcame him and he hunched over, coughing hard.

Athos stepped closer and took his friend by the shoulders, gently maneuvering him back down to sit on his bedroll. "Is that how it was?" he asked.

Aramis, still coughing, nodded.

"So we know that the man is shorter than us," d'Artagnan deduced.

"But strong," said Treville, opening a canteen. "Aramis stepped _back_ from the river, yet the man pushed him with enough force to propel him forward and into the water. The man didn't run up to Aramis and use his momentum to push him, Aramis backed into him, which meant that the man was standing still."

"True," said d'Artagnan. "If one of you walk into me and I push you, you'll stumble, not fly through the air and into a lake."

Aramis shot a look at him as he took the canteen from Treville.

D'Artagnan made a face. "No offense."

Aramis drank the water, closing his eyes against the headache that the coughing had given him. Between the cough and the pain in his lungs and throat along with the headache, he felt as if he was suffering from influenza. He was so tired…

Hands pushed him back to recline against the saddlebags. "Rest."

Aramis didn't open his eyes, and fell back to sleep a moment later.

Everyone but Treville walked over to the other side of the tent so as not to disturb him.

"I have a theory," d'Artagnan whispered. "Clouseau is short. Maybe he did this as revenge."

Athos sighed. "Ridiculous, but possible."

"Clouseau may be a troublemaker," said Porthos. "But to try to kill Aramis for laughing at his mishap? He wasn't the only one who laughed; we _all_ did." He shrugged. "It was funny."

"But Aramis was the one who was standing near the river, not one of you," said d'Artagnan.

The three of them stood there thinking on it, until Aramis suddenly came awake coughing. He sat forward away from the saddlebags, a hand on his chest as he practically coughed out a lung.

Treville knelt beside him and started rubbing his back again, hoping to soothe his spasming lungs. As the others came back over, Treville looked at them with a sigh.

Once the coughing died down, Aramis sat with his head hanging, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath while pain seared through his lungs and bruised ribs. He couldn't stop the little noises of distress that passed his lips.

The sounds of his suffering were like daggers to his friends' hearts.

"Whoever did this, I'm gonna kill 'im," Porthos growled. "I'm gonna kill 'im!"

Despite what he was going through, Aramis heard him and reached out a hand to clasp his friend's arm. "I'm…fine," he croaked, looking up at him.

"Sure you are," said Porthos. "And I'm Cardinal Richelieu."

Aramis smiled slightly at that before lowering his head again and closing his eyes as he tried to breathe.

"Aramis," said Treville, hand still on his back. "Is there anything we can do to help you?"

Aramis started to shake his head, before a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Steam," he said.

He said it so softly that Treville didn't quite hear it and bent his head closer. "What was that?"

Aramis tried to take a deeper breath and lifted his head a little. "Steam," he repeated.

"Got it," said d'Artagnan, before he dashed outside the tent.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Everyone was quiet as they watched Aramis work on just breathing. The wheeze was still audible, and eventually, Aramis looked at them and could see how nervous they were. "I'll be fine," he managed to say.

"We'll hold you to that," Athos told him.

Aramis smiled slightly.

"Is this normal for someone who drowned?" Porthos asked.

Aramis realized that Porthos said 'drowned', not ' _almost_ drowned'.

Treville saw the confusion on Aramis' face. "When Porthos brought you out of the river, you weren't breathing," he said. "I had to pound on you to get you to take a breath and cough up the water." He still had his hand on Aramis' back, and he automatically rubbed it as if to ease the pain that he knew he'd caused him.

Aramis was shocked. He suddenly remembered hearing someone say the words 'not breathing' on the bank of the river, and looked at Porthos. "Yes," he said, in answer to his question. He then turned his head to look at Treville. "Thank you."

Treville smiled.

"Hey, what about me?" said Porthos, pretending to be indignant. " _I'm_ the one who dragged your hide out of the river."

Aramis chuckled, but it turned into more coughing.

"Nevermind, save your breath!" Porthos told him.

A few minutes later, d'Artagnan came in carrying a pot of boiling water, using a towel so he wouldn't get burned. "Where do you want this?" he asked.

Aramis patted his blanket-covered lap, and d'Artagnan carefully set it down. "Is it burning you?" he asked.

The heat seeping through the thick blanket felt good, and Aramis shook his head, closing his eyes when the hot steam floated into his face. He tried to inhale it as deeply as he could, but tried too hard and caused himself another coughing fit.

D'Artagnan, still kneeling beside him, grabbed onto the pot to prevent it from spilling boiling water all over him.

The fit didn't last too long, and Aramis resumed breathing the steam.

With Treville staying beside Aramis, Porthos made a face at Athos which the other Musketeer instantly understood, and all three of them moved away to talk.

"We still need to find the person who did this," Porthos angrily said.

"Clouseau should be questioned again," d'Artagnan told them.

Athos nodded; they had nothing else to go on, after all. "I will speak to him."

The others nodded, and Athos left the tent. He heard Aramis start coughing again as he walked away, and sighed.

The rain had ended and King Louis was outside, probably having come out the instant it stopped. "Ah, Athos," Louis said to him. "How is Aramis this day? I could hear him coughing all night." Annoyance was easily readable in his tone.

"He has yet to improve, but wished me to apologize for him on that matter," Athos told him.

Louis nodded with a sigh. "Yes, well, I'm sure he can't help it. It must be awful to actually drown." The cold wind blew, and he shivered.

Athos nodded, not liking how casually the King spoke about it. "Undoubtedly."

"Have you discovered yet how he ended up in the river?"

Athos inwardly sighed. "He was pushed, Your Majesty."

The King looked unsure. "I fail to see how, considering who is here."

"Even so, I have a duty to Aramis, Sire," said Athos. "He almost died...and he _is_ one of your finest Musketeers."

King Louis nodded, even though it was obvious that he didn't like it. "I trust you shall be discreet?" In other words, no open accusations.

Athos nodded. "Of course."

The King nodded, and as Athos gave him a bow and walked away, he was slightly surprised that Louis hadn't stopped him from investigating further...probably because he was worried that if someone _had_ pushed Aramis in—which Athos didn't doubt—then _he_ might be next.

Athos eventually came to the tent that housed Clouseau, and found him standing outside. "Monsieur," Athos said.

Clouseau was chewing something, and gave him a nod in response.

"I was wondering if you happened to remember seeing anything yesterday," Athos asked.

Clouseau frowned. "Seeing anything?"

Athos inwardly sighed. "In regards to Aramis being pushed into the river."

Clouseau shook his head. "I saw nothing, what could I possibly remember?"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Clouseau answered. "I was in my tent and didn't know _anything_ until I happened to come out just when the big one carried him past me."

Athos didn't remember seeing Clouseau at the time. "He drowned," he told the Comte. "Aramis was not breathing when we brought him out of the river. He was fortunate to have survived." He watched Clouseau's reaction closely.

Clouseau shivered. "I surmised it was that bad, considering that the whole camp could hear his coughing all night." It wasn't said callously, to the Comte's credit.

"It reminds me of something that happened two years ago," Athos said. "Involving you and a fountain."

Clouseau's face flushed red. "Yes, I remember the laughter that I received for it! What is your point?"

Athos said nothing, watching him coldly.

"You swine!" Clouseau exclaimed as realization dawned. "You dare accuse me of trying to murder your friend for revenge?" Clouseau exclaimed.

"I do not accuse," Athos replied. "I simply reference a recent incident that I'm sure neither one of us will ever forget."

Clouseau's face turned even redder with anger.

"Good day," Athos said. He turned around and walked back towards his tent, hearing Aramis coughing far before he reached it. With a sigh, he walked inside, finding that Aramis hadn't moved. The curls framing his forehead were damp from the steam.

Athos was struck by how tired Aramis looked. "Is it helping?"

Aramis nodded.

Athos smiled. "Good."

"How'd it go?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos told them everything that was said, and Porthos laughed loudly when Athos mentioned the fountain. "You brought that up to his _face_?" he asked.

Treville looked up at the ceiling of the tent as if to say, 'why, Lord?'

Athos nodded. "To gauge his reaction."

"And?" said d'Artagnan, as Porthos shook his head with a smile.

"He had the gall to call me 'swine'," Athos answered.

Porthos laughed again.

Aramis must've laughed too—or tried to, anyway—for he started coughing once more, picking up the pot to move off his lap.

Treville was closest and grabbed it from him, setting it down before taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wiping it over Aramis' face to remove the moisture from the steam.

Oh, how Aramis' lungs hurt! He held one hand pressed to his chest, eyes closed, fisting his other hand in the blanket that still covered his lap. He groaned, and felt Treville's hand comfortingly start rubbing his back again.

A voice suddenly cleared its throat, and everyone swung their eyes towards the opening of the tent, where King Louis stood, looking awkward.

"Sire?" said Treville, moving to stand.

Louis held out his hand, telling him to stay where he was. "I…came to see how your man is, Treville," he said. It sounded like a lie, but seeing Aramis' suffering made the king realize just how bad the situation was.

"He's…" Treville looked at Aramis, who still had his head lowered as he tried to catch his breath. "Not well."

Louis nodded. "I can see that." He then looked at Athos. "I'm sure you can guess whom I just had a visit from."

"Clouseau."

The King nodded. "He told me that you accused him of…this," he said, gesturing to Aramis.

Athos shook his head. "I did not, Your Majesty. I simply referenced a certain incident that happened a couple of years ago—"

"You mean when Clouseau fell into the fountain?" The King's expression changed into his typical wide grin. "I witnessed it as well; it was a most amusing sight!"

Athos nodded. "I did not realize that it embarrassed him so, I should not have mentioned it."

The King laughed, but stopped when Aramis started coughing again. "If you would like to send Aramis back to Paris, Treville, you have my permission. One of your men can accompany him, but I require the rest to stay… _if_ we stay. I'm considering giving up on the weather and heading back."

Treville nodded. "I'll wait for your decision on that…I don't think he should ride back in the rain."

The king looked out the tent to see that it was, in fact, raining again. "Oh, drat. I certainly picked the wrong week to go hunting!" With that, he dashed out and ran back to his own tent.

"If the king decides to head back, how are we supposed to figure out who tried to kill Aramis?" d'Artagnan said.

No one had an answer for him.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

The night passed in much the same way as the previous one, with Aramis coughing through the night. It didn't happen as often, thankfully, as it appeared that the steam had indeed done him some good. When Aramis woke the next morning, he found that his headache had lessened and it wasn't quite as difficult to breathe as it had been the day before. His friends brought him another pot of steam, happy to see that his cough wasn't as bad.

Outside, it was still cloudy and dreary, but no longer raining, and Treville went to find out from the King what his decision was.

"You're looking better," Porthos said to Aramis.

Aramis looked up at him as he inhaled the steam. "You're just saying that…to be polite," his voice was scratchy from all the coughing.

Porthos shook his head. "No, really, you were white as a ghost for a while."

Aramis nodded, not surprised.

"You are still pale," said Athos. "Just because you are doing better doesn't mean that you are fine."

Aramis couldn't argue that; he certainly couldn't perform his duty if he couldn't breathe right. He still wheezed, which told everyone what they needed to know without Aramis having to say a word.

Treville came back inside. "The King wishes to leave; he's ordered everyone to pack up the campsite."

Everyone looked at each other. Leaving would make it harder to discover who'd tried to kill Aramis. Having no choice, they packed everything up—not letting Aramis help—and when it finally came time to take down the tent, Porthos brought Aramis outside, a hand on his arm lest he falter.

Aramis started coughing after only a few steps, not surprising anyone.

Athos caught up to them, leaving d'Artagnan to take the tent down with Treville's help. "Can you make it over to the river?" he asked.

Aramis nodded, and they slowly headed over, with Aramis trying to suppress his coughing.

"Where were you standing when you were pushed in?" Athos asked.

Aramis walked a few more steps and stood facing the water. "Right here."

Athos turned and looked to see whose tent was nearby…he wasn't surprised to see Clouseau standing less than twenty feet away while his servant took down his tent.

Porthos spotted him too, and shot a look at Athos that clearly said, 'I'll kill him.'

They both turned to face the water again so Clouseau wouldn't see them staring, and Aramis started coughing once more. They waited until he stopped before Athos opened his mouth to speak…but before he had a chance, Aramis suddenly gave a startled cry as his body pitched towards the river.

Porthos lunged forward and grabbed him, pulling him back before he could fall in. Aramis landed on his rear-end on the bank, his boots splashing into the water.

Athos spun around, but no one was there. He looked in all directions, but spotted nothing suspicious. Baffled, he reached down to grab one of Aramis' arms as Porthos pulled him back up the bank. "Did you trip?" he asked.

Aramis was coughing again. "Pushed!"

Athos and Porthos shared a look. "We didn't see anyone do it," Athos told him.

Aramis kept coughing with one arm around his ribs, which had been painfully jarred when he'd hit the ground. "Someone…pushed…me!" he said in between the coughs.

"Well then, who was it!" Porthos exclaimed.

As if in answer to his question, a large form came up behind Aramis and knocked him to the ground, where he landed on his knees despite Porthos' grip on his arm. The force of the shove knocked Aramis' hat off his head…and King Louis' horse picked it up in his teeth and started to walk away.

All three of the Musketeers stared in shock.

"A… _horse_ …did this?" Porthos stammered.

Athos stalked forward and pulled the hat from the horse's mouth, before turning and walking back to his friends.

The horse followed him.

Porthos had pulled Aramis to his feet, and they stood staring as Athos returned with Aramis' hat. Athos put it on his own head and waited for the horse to catch up to him.

Without hesitation, the horse knocked his nose into Athos' back. Athos stepped to the side just in time, but he let Aramis' hat fall to the ground, and they watched as the horse picked it up again and walked off.

Aramis stared. "I don't know whether to laugh, or die from embarrassment."

Athos again fetched Aramis' hat away from the horse, and they stood there watching as the horse flicked its tail, obviously agitated. "Well, Porthos?" Athos said.

"Well what?" Porthos asked.

"You said that you were going to kill whoever did this to Aramis," Athos said. "Well, here he is."

"I can't kill the king's horse!" Porthos quietly hissed.

Aramis looked around, clutching the jeweled cross that the Queen had given him as he inwardly prayed that no one had seen or heard what was going on. Everyone seemed immersed in breaking down the campsite, and considering the fact that Aramis didn't hear anyone laughing themselves sick, he realized that he was safe...

Until he noticed Clouseau staring right at him.

Startled, Aramis accidentally sucked in a breath and started coughing. Clouseau was absolutely the _last_ person that needed to know the truth.

A moment later, Clouseau walked over, throwing a slightly annoyed look at Athos as he remembered the conversation they'd had the previous day. "Monsieur Aramis," he said. "It is good to see you up and around."

Aramis wondered if he was being sarcastic. "Thank you," he said, trying to hold in more coughing. It didn't work.

"Have you discovered the identity of the miscreant who pushed him into the river?" Clouseau asked Porthos, appearing to ignore Athos completely.

"We have a pretty good idea," Porthos said.

King Louis' horse suddenly reached its head towards Athos and opened its mouth to grab Aramis' hat.

Athos quickly passed it to his other hand behind his back and placed it on Aramis' head. "You dropped your hat," he said.

"Oh, thank you," Aramis replied, going along with him.

"You do?" Clouseau said to Porthos.

"Yeah...uh...we're still workin' on it," Porthos said. "It's probably not a… _person_ …that you know."

Clouseau looked glad to hear that, seeing that he wasn't a suspect after all.

King Louis' horse suddenly started walking around Clouseau, apparently intent on grabbing Aramis' hat from the other side.

Porthos grabbed the hat off Aramis' head right before the horse reached its neck forward, and he started waving it around. "Watch out, there's a bee in your hair!" he exclaimed.

Aramis took a step to the side, hoping that Porthos wasn't serious.

Porthos then held the hat behind his own back. "It flew away," he said.

The horse suddenly gave a loud huff, as if to say, 'Give me that hat!'

Clouseau looked back towards his belongings near the now-collapsed tent. "I must finish. Good day."

The Musketeers all said goodbye, watching as he walked off, before looking at King Louis' horse, who still stood there, flicking its tail.

Porthos pulled Aramis' hat out from behind his back. "Is this what you want?" he asked the horse.

Aramis frowned. "What are you doing?" He reached for his hat.

Porthos moved it away. "Uh uh, you ain't gettin' this hat until we're on the road and _away_ from this horse! He almost killed you, Aramis, because he wants your hat!" He waved it in front of the horse again. "Well you ain't gettin' it, you great oaf!"

The horse reached for it, just as Porthos pulled it away.

"What are you doing to my horse?!"

Everyone froze as King Louis' voice met their ears. Aramis started coughing again.

King Louis walked over with a frown. "What is going on here?" he asked again.

Porthos opened his mouth and closed it again, but it was Athos who spoke. "Your horse is attracted to the feather on this hat."

Aramis had nearly stopped coughing, but it grew worse again at those words.

Louis nodded. "Yes, he does love feathers…don't you, Champion?" he said, petting the horses' nose. "We have to hide them from him…once he sees a feather, he'll stop at nothing to get it."

Aramis was still coughing, shooting Athos a glare as if afraid that he'd given the situation away.

Louis looked at Aramis. "My, you aren't recovering very quickly, are you?"

"No, he's not," said Porthos. He looked at his friend. "Come on, Aramis, you should sit down until we leave."

Athos gave the King a bow and they quickly walked off.

"Why did you _say_ that?" Aramis asked Athos.

"Louis saw Porthos waving your hat at his horse, what _else_ was I supposed to say?" Athos replied.

Aramis shook his head and started coughing again, their fast pace making his lungs work harder than they were currently capable of.

"Don't worry, Aramis," Porthos said. "I doubt the King will figure it out."

They reached the spot where their tent used to be, to find d'Artagnan and Treville just finishing folding it up.

"Find out anything?" Treville asked.

"Only the identity of who pushed Aramis into the river," Porthos said.

At those words, Aramis groaned as he sat on a log.

D'Artagnan dashed over. "Who was it?"

Aramis looked at the ground and shook his head.

"Champion," Athos deadpanned. "The King's horse."

D'Artagnan blinked, before he and Treville glanced at each other. "The King's _horse_?"

Aramis dropped his face into one hand.

D'Artagnan smiled, thinking they were joking, before realizing from their expressions—Athos and Porthos', anyway, since Aramis was hiding his face—that it was not a joke.

"You're serious?" Treville asked.

Porthos nodded. "He tried to knock him in again and grabbed his hat." He held it up. "He wanted the feather!"

D'Artagnan couldn't believe it. "You're telling us that a horse nearly killed Aramis for his _hat_?!"

Aramis made a sound behind his hand. "Thank you for making it sound even _more_ ridiculous."

No one knew what to say; Aramis had almost _died_.

"Well," said d'Artagnan. "At least you figured it out…so you don't have to worry that someone is trying to kill you."

"That's true," said Porthos, even though he'd like to wring the horse's neck. He patted Aramis' shoulder. "See? A happy ending."

Aramis lifted his head and gave him a longsuffering look. He reached up, took his hat from Porthos, and put it on, before coughing again.

The King suddenly walked past them, but Aramis didn't notice, eyes closed as he coughed. He felt the hat suddenly disappear from his head, and looked up. "Porthos…"

But it wasn't Porthos who had taken it; Champion the horse was walking behind the King, with Aramis' hat in its mouth.

Aramis' mouth dropped open. "Porthos!" he said, just as his friend dashed forward and grabbed the hat before quickly sprinting back.

D'Artagnan had a hand over his mouth…that had been one of the funniest things he'd ever seen.

"Now that was a sight that I won't soon forget," Treville commented.

" _Please_ forget," said Aramis. "For _my_ sake." He started coughing again.

King Louis climbed into his carriage and everyone else was mounting their horses. A chilly wind suddenly blew, making them shiver.

"Let's go," said Porthos, reaching down to pull Aramis to his feet and fussing with his cloak as if Aramis was a child. "You need a warm bed with a roaring fire."

"And a featherless hat," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis looked at d'Artagnan as if he'd said a very bad word. "What?"

"A hat with no feather," d'Artagnan told him, as they headed towards their horses.

"No feather in my hat?" Aramis said, coughing again. "I…can't wear…a hat…with no feather!"

Everyone knew that, and shot each other humored looks.

Porthos helped Aramis mount even though he insisted that he didn't need help. The exertion made Aramis cough yet again, and he saw quite a lot of people looking at him. Finally, they started to head back, and he nearly sighed in relief, but caught himself in time, not wanting to keep coughing and draw everyone's attention.

It took hours to get back, and after seeing the King safely to the palace, the musketeers were finally able to go back to the garrison. After a very slow trip up the stairs that didn't agree with Aramis' lungs, they brought him to his room. It was freezing inside, so d'Artagnan quickly got the fire going while Porthos forced Aramis to let him help him out of his uniform.

After Aramis was changed into nightclothes, Porthos draped a blanket around his shoulders.

"Thank you," Aramis said, shivering as he pulled it around himself. He started to head over to the chair in front of the fire, coughing along the way, but Porthos grabbed his arm.

"To bed with you," Porthos said.

Aramis was still coughing and couldn't answer as his friend led him to his bed and made him get in. He lay at an incline to help his breathing, and smiled as Porthos fussed over him, making sure the blanket around his shoulders and chest wasn't letting any chilly air in, and pulling the covers up under his chin.

Athos had mysteriously disappeared, and suddenly returned with a bottle of wine and four cups. He and d'Artagnan watched, amused, as Porthos practically tucked Aramis in.

"Perhaps you should have waited until _this_ was empty," Athos said.

Porthos turned to see Athos holding up a bottle of wine. He shook his head with a smile.

A minute later, they were all sitting around Aramis' bed drinking it. Porthos let Aramis stick just one hand out of the blankets to hold his cup.

Athos waited until Aramis was on his second cup of wine before asking, "How are you feeling?"

Aramis blinked sleepily. The room was quickly warming up, and the alcohol was affecting him faster than usual due to his weakened condition. "Better than I was."

Athos nodded. "Good."

"None of you plan to tell anyone that the horse did it, do you?" Aramis asked, tiredly closing his eyes. His hand holding the cup was resting on his stomach but the cup started to tip, and Porthos reached out and grabbed it before it could spill on him.

Aramis opened his eyes, raising the cup and drinking the rest as if nothing had happened. It was obvious that he was having trouble staying awake, and Porthos took the cup from him when he was finished and placed it on the nightstand before taking Aramis' wrist and pushing his hand back inside the blankets. "Go to sleep."

"Mmm," Aramis said. He closed his eyes again, but started coughing a moment later.

The other three inwardly winced.

Aramis winced too once the fit ended. "One day...I'll look back on this…and laugh," he mumbled.

"And we'll laugh _at_ you. I mean _with_ you," d'Artagnan joked.

Aramis smiled, and his friends' soft laughter was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep…

 _Aramis dreamed that King Louis' horse stole all twenty of his hats (even though he didn't own that many) and that Louis told the story of Champion knocking him into the river to his guests at the next Royal Ball. The entire palace had erupted in laughter, and Aramis had snuck outside to get away. He'd sat on the palace steps with a sigh, and never heard Champion coming until the hat on his head suddenly disappeared. He looked up to see the horse walking around a corner and out of sight._

 _"Well, Champion," Aramis called out. "You did it. You got my hat."_

 _The horse neighed in response._

 _Aramis propped the side of his face onto his fist. "At least this is a dream; so you don't_ _really_ _have my hat."_

 _Another distant neigh sounded, and Aramis couldn't help but laugh, especially since his lungs felt fine in the dream._

 _Suddenly Champion came back and dropped all of Aramis' hats on the step beside him. "Why, thank you," Aramis said._

Back in Aramis' room, the others were staring at their sleeping friend. Suddenly, Aramis softly chuckled in his sleep, and his friends smiled at each other, glad to see that it didn't wake him up coughing.

"Now that's a sound I like to hear," Porthos whispered.

THE END


End file.
